D.N.A: Does Not Assimilate

Raking fingers through her midnight blue hair and biting on her nails-a nervous habit that her dad was always scolding her about-Niyota anxiously paced the floor of the sterile white room.

At this juncture, it was pretty safe for her to assume that her father hadn't taken her sudden reappearance at the house too well. No. Quite the opposite in fact. Rather than the tight comforting hugs and whispered assurances and promises that everything would be okay she'd been expecting, Niyota had received a call to the cops instead. Twenty minutes later the local place had responded to a break-in call from the woman-whoever the hell she was—and took less than five minutes to assess the situation.

Then much to her horror Niyota had been read her rights and placed under arrest for breaking and entering. None of what she'd said had phased them. No one had taken the time to even listen to her side of the story. The police had made fast work of cuffing hands behind her back and dragging her out of the house, into the awaiting police cruiser on the street. While her father had watched from the front porch of the house-her house-one she'd specifically chosen- completely oblivious to her pleas for help. His help.

All because of her.

She that girl had done this to her.

Niyota was still reeling in shock at what she had returned to the house tonight to find, not quite sure how to process this information. Her memories involuntarily took her back to that moment inside of the house, when she'd stared back at the one who'd spoken. The girl that was her, but yet not her.

Although she had her hair and eyes and face, so similar that the two could've passed for twins, the similarity was only skin deep. This imposter may have her looks, but her actions were all wrong. Niyota had seen that the instant she'd seen the carbon copy in the doorway, how come no one else did?

Her mind spun crazily at all that had happened in the last twelve hours, she fell back against the wall and collapsed to the floor. Blinking back the tears that threatened to fall then, Niyota dropped her head back against the wall, trying to make sense of everything. To comprehend what could be going on, how any of this could've happened. Niyota honestly didn't have a clue.

All she knew was upon returning to her home tonight, after escaping captivity at the hands of monsters, it was to learn that someone had stolen her life. Literally. Despite the fact this girl had somehow gotten her face-she'd worry about the how of that later-she'd completely taken over her life. Her friends, family, probably her boyfriend too. To the point that her own father didn't even believe her, probably thinking that she was some crazy lunatic. God, how could this be happening?

How was it even possible?

It couldn't be real. Things like this just didn't happen. Yet, there was no denying that face, those eyes that had stared back at her, as the not-Niyota was held by her father. The memory of that embrace, the love visible in his eyes as he assured the not-her it'd be okay, hurt her deeply and profoundly. In a way, Niyota had never imagined could be possible. How could he do this to her? Betraying her, his own daughter?

Sometime later-she wasn't sure how much time had gone by-the door to the interrogation room came open, omitting a man in his twenties inside. Tall, broad, with brown hair. When the door clicked closed behind his entrance, he walked to the table in the middle of the room and placed a white container down. He motioned to it. "I brought you something to eat."

Aware that ignoring the man's presence inside the room was out of the question, he was sure to see to that, she got up off the floor. Walking across the floor in three quick strides and sitting down in the available chair across from him, she reached for the carton of food. Fighting against the bile that arose from the tuna salad sandwich inside, it was pushed away from her. "No thank you."

"Is something wrong?" he asked curiously.

She nodded jerkily. "I'm allergic to tuna."

He wrote something down in the notepad in hand, probably notations about what she'd told him. "I'm terribly sorry about that. My mistake. Why don't I have one of my people get you something to eat while we talk?" She shrugged. "Whatever you want."

"I'm Detective Scott Gerald," he finally introduced himself, opening up the manila folder he'd brought into the interrogation room with him. "While we talk we're going to record our conversation. Do you mind?"

"Go ahead," she promptly agreed, waving a hand dismissively. "Record anything you want to. I'm not the one lying and I don't have anything to hide."

"Can you tell me your name?" he asked.

"Niyota," she said. "Niyota Y'Fell."

Detective Gerald murmured softly as he again wrote something down in the notepad, notations about the conversation they were having. For him to come back to later. Deep brown eyes raised up, to meet her own. "There seems to one one problem with that. The girl out there claims she's Niyota Y'Fell."

"She's lying!" her response was quick and angry, distressed at the situation that she'd found herself in. The last one Niyota had ever expected to land in. "I am Niyota Y'Fell, the only one there is. That girl is an imposter, trying to steal my life." "Why would she do that?" he countered.

"I don't know," she cried.

He looked at the file. "Can you tell me the date?"

"November twelfth."

"Hmmm," he murmured. "And the year?"

"Two thousand and twelve."

"Are you sure about that?" he asked. Which she promptly agreed to with a nod of her head. Again with the notes. Placing the pen down on the table and folding hands together in front of him, he stared across the table at her. "It's November twelfth, of two thousand and thirteen."

"No!" Niyota screamed, immediately jumping back to her feet and knocking the chair over in the process, vehemently shaking her head. "That's not possible. You're lying. Trying to trick me."

Gerald held his hands up in surrender in front of him, a calm and serene expression on his face, maintaining a non-threatening exterior. "It's okay, miss. I mean you no harm. I'm only trying to help."

"My name is Niyota!" she snapped back at him in anger, scared and uncertain, trembling violently. "And if you really wanted to help me, you'd be interrogating that impostor. She's the criminal, not me. She stole my life, my home, my family. Aren't there laws against this kind of thing?"

"Yes," the detective readily agreedm "and no one is getting away with anything. One of the other detectives has her down the hall, in a room just like this one, asking her these same questions. No one is getting special treatment. Now can you please sit back down?"

Calmed down somewhat at the assurances that this interrogation wasn't one-sided, the cops were at least attempting to get to the bottom of this. Righting the chair she'd knocked down, she retook her seat. "I'm sorry," Niyota apologized earnestly. "It's just been a lot to take in."

"That's completely understandable," Detective Gerald said, soft and gentle, putting forward extra effort at being nice to keep from spooking her into action again. "Prior to getting to the house tonight, do you remember where you were? What were you doing?"

"It's all blurry and it hurts to think," Niyota moaned in misery, placing hands on either side of her face, trying to dredge up those memories. To recall what had happened, so that she might be able to tell him. "I was walking home from school. Dada had a business trip to leave on the next morning and wanted us to have dinner before he left. Then I'd seen this strange light."

He jumped on that. "This light?"

"It was green, rippled almost."

"And after that?" he encouraged.

A thumping pain started at the forefront of her forehead, shooting sharp shards of pain through her entire brain, but she forged on stubbornly. "I woke up somewhere. It was dark and I was cold. I stumbled out and fell down a hole. I eventually came to in the woods and found my way home. Only to find out that someone had stolen my life and no one believed me."

"I-

"No you don't," she cut in before he could finish his statement, shaking her head negatively at what he'd thought to say to her. "You don't believe me any more than my own father does. I know the drill, detective. My Uncle was a negotiator for the FBI for ten years. He'd taught me the lingo. Number one rule, gain the perp's trust. Number two, relate with the perp and build relations through a shared bond. That's all this is, your attempt to build that bond."

Gerald wrote again. "This uncle of yours?"

Niyota rolled her eyes heavenward. "Kyle Nathanial Issak Bridgeport. The product of my grandmother Merilyn's second marriage to Nathan Bridgeport." She tilted her chin up, smiling smugly at his look of surprise. "You're not going to trip me up, by asking me questions about my own life."

When the knocking came at the door, disrupting their conversation, he pushed to his feet and went to see who it was. Talking briefly to someone on the other side of the door, he closed it again and walked back to the table. "My partner managed to track down a ham and cheese sandwich for you."

"Thank you," she said in gratitude.

Placing the food container down on the table, Detective Gerald walked to the other side of the table and gathered up his stuff. "I'm going to step out while you eat. I'll be back in a little while."

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Niyota bobbed her head in assent, acknowledging what the detective had told her, but said nothing on the matter. It wouldn't have changed the outcome if she had. Her feelings mattered not at the time being, not as long as these people believed her to be some crazy imposter.

******

Leaving her alone in the interrogation room to eat the food he'd gotten her, door automatically locking behind him, he slipped through the door of the observation room. Flipping off the switch for the speaker's volume, Detective Gerald looked at the older man. "Mr. Y'Fell?"

"Who is she?" was all he could ask.

His partner, Detective Leslie Krane opened up the file in hand, more for something to do to occupy her hands than any need for information. "As of right now, we don't know. There are no reports of missing children of her age and description. We're running her face through the system hoping for something, but so far there have been no hits."

"What about her prints?" Charles asked, running his fingers through his hair in agitation, eyes zeroed in on the girl on the other side of the two-way mirror. "She didn't simply appear out of thin air. She had to have come from somewhere. Who is she? Where did she come from? I just don't understand."

"Is there a-

"No," he stepped in before he could finish the thought. "I understand your confusion, Detective. The similarity between the two of them is uncanny, but there is no way that girl is my daughter. I'd know my own child." Detective Gerald bobbed his head. "Well, she has fabricated a world. A world in which she is the real Niyota Y'Fell and someone has stolen her life. And has personal information, that only adds to this fantasy of hers." "What are you going to do?"

He took a deep breath. "She will be transported to Greenwood Psychiatric Center in the morning, where her mental condition will be evaluated by them. It's the safest route for her and your family."

He gulped. "Is she dangerous?"

"Yes," the detective was quick to assure him, having no doubts of that. "Not intentionally. In this fantasy world she's woven for herself, someone has stolen her life and family and she looks upon Niyota as a threat. To her and everyone else. And she will do and say anything, to protect people from this supposed threat."

"Oh."

Gerald clasped his arm. "I don't want you and your family to worry, Mr. Y'Fell. This department will go through every resource we have to uncover her true identity and the cause of the collapse of her mental stability." Charles bobbed his head. "Thank you, detective."